


Second Degree

by Zai42



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 10:56:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13500402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: Jon can only hope telling Georgie the truth was a good decision, because God knows he has a hard time when it comes to good decisions.





	Second Degree

**Author's Note:**

> Quick, read this before it gets jossed next episode!

In spite of everything, there was still some distant part of him that was relieved he'd had enough presence of mind to offer Perry his _left_ hand.

  
His right hand _(your good hand,_ his brain gibbered wildly) shook badly as he dialed Georgie's number. God, it still hurt, it felt like it was still burning, and he couldn't quite bring himself to look down to assess the damage. It had to be second degree, right? Third degree burns damaged the nerves badly enough that they didn't hurt, hadn't he read that somewhere? So it was good it was hurting, that meant--

  
"Jon! Where have you been all day?" Georgie sounded downright perky, and it made a lump rise in his throat.

  
"I--" That wouldn't do. One syllable in and his voice was choked and shaking. "Georgie, I won't be back tonight, I just wanted to tell you so you wouldn't worry, you don't need to worry, I'm fine I just--" _I'm just babbling like an idiot._

  
"What? Slow down, what are you talking about?"

  
Jon slumped against the brick wall of the alleyway he had slunk into, cradling his phone against his shoulder and clutching at his arm with his good hand. "I'm sorry," he said, and it came out as a whisper. "I...I can't..."

  
There was a heavy pause, and Jon braced himself for anger. Instead, Georgie let out a slow breath and said, with a patience Jon imagined was at least a little forced, "Okay. You're obviously...not fine, Jon. You sound like hell. Will you please tell me what's happened?"

  
The way she asked it, she sounded as if she already knew what he would say. He took in a shuddering breath and stared up at the darkening sky. "I...it's...it's nothing. I don't want you to be--worried." _I don't want you to be hurt. I don't want you to be involved._

  
"I'm already worried!" Ah, there was the anger. "Jon, for God's sake, you showed up at my house in the middle of the night looking like you'd seen a ghost, you've been acting...weird ever since, and now you call me up and start--just--babbling about how you aren't coming home and that you're sorry? Jon, please, _come home_ if you don't want me to worry."

  
The sky, even the sliver of it Jon could see between the buildings, was dizzyingly vast. He shut his eyes against it, a sudden loneliness settling behind his ribcage. _Come home,_ she had said.

  
"Where are you?" Georgie was asking. "I'll come and get you, all right? You don't even have to tell me everything, but I know you don't have anywhere else--"

  
"Okay."

  
"What? Really?"

  
"Yes." Jon grasped his phone with his good hand. He could feel his borrowed sweatshirt sticking to his burned skin and his stomach did a nauseous little flip.

  
"Oh, God, thank you. Hang on, I'll get my keys--where are you?"

  
As he relayed his location to Georgie, he let his legs crumple and he sank to the ground, his back scraping along the brick he was leaning against. He was so tired. He kept his phone pressed to his ear for long minutes after Georgie had hung up, staring blankly at the gravel beneath him. It took him a moment to realize his vision was blurring because he had tears in his eyes.

  
He hadn't gone far, and it took her less than ten minutes to find him, and when she first called his name she sounded relieved. Then she saw his arm.

  
"Oh my God." He got shakily to his feet to greet her, trying to imagine what he looked like through her eyes. It wasn't a particularly pretty picture. "Oh, God. What happened?"

  
She reached for him, grabbing his wrist to try and get a closer look, and he hissed, pulling away and curling around his arm. "Don't _touch_ it! It's still a bit...tender." He finally looked down to take in the damage. It was bad, but not nearly as awful as he'd worried. The skin was red and blistered, a charred brownish in some places, mostly where Perry's fingers had sunk into the flesh, blood (and other fluids) caking around where the blisters had popped or the skin had cracked--but it wasn't a blackened husk, so that was a start.

  
"Do you need a hospital?" Georgie asked. She was hovering over his shoulder, not quite touching him.

  
"No! No hospitals. It's fine, I just..." He stretched out his mangled fingers. Some of the skin split open and began oozing fresh blood. "Augh...I think they're just...just second degree. Not that bad."

  
"Second degree is pretty bad!" But she seemed unwilling to argue the point, as if she were worried he'd change his mind and run off if she pressed the issue.

***

The burns went all the way to his elbow, though they faded in severity the farther away from his hand they got. Georgie sat on the rim of the bathtub, her phone open to the Wikipedia page on burns, watching as Jon gingerly scrubbed his arm down with unscented soap. "It says some second degree burns could require skin grafts," she said.

  
Jon made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. He'd taken something for the pain, but it hadn't quite kicked in yet, and every time he flexed a joint the pain flared up like new, even with the cool water running over it. He had told Georgie she didn't need to help him, but she'd insisted. Her first aid kit was very well-stocked, at least.

  
Georgie watched him struggle, one-handed, with the anti-bacterial cream for a moment before uncapping it herself, squeezing a generous dollop onto her fingers, and starting to apply it to his palm. She was gentle, and even so Jon winced, but he tried to hide it. He sank down onto the edge of the bathtub next to her, rubbing his eyes as she started on his knuckles.

  
"I know I said you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to," Georgie said. She ghosted her thumb over a particularly nasty burn, staring at it for a moment as if debating whether or not it truly resembled a fingerprint. "And--I won't make you. I would just like to know if...if you're..." She sighed heavily. "If I should buy more gauze," she finally said.

  
Jon glanced away. He had seen her eyeing his worm scars after he had peeled off his sweatshirt. She hadn't said anything, but the alarm had been clear on her features. And now she was literally tending his wounds after he had disappeared for a day without telling her where he'd gone. Guilt gnawed at him. "There's...there's a lot to tell," he said slowly, not quite meeting her eyes. "And...I still don't think you'll believe it. But..." She had gone very still next to him, a roll of gauze half unraveled in her hands. As if she thought moving would shatter some spell and make him change his mind. "If you're interested in listening to the whole thing--"

  
"Jesus, Jon, of course I am," Georgie said, all in one breath. The sheer relief on her face almost made Jon think it wasn't a terrible idea, after all.

***

Somehow telling Melanie had been easier. Objectively, Georgie was a better listener--she had settled in next to him on the couch, a mug of tea cradled in her lap, and reacted appropriately to each revelation or twist, asking questions when Jon hesitated or faltered. But where Melanie had been stoic and determined, Georgie looked increasingly horrified, and it was a stark reminder that the situation was _horrifying._ It wasn't a fact that he ever forgot, per se, it was only that, seeing someone on the outside react to it, he wondered if he hadn't become a bit numb.

  
There was a long, heavy pause once he finished, and Georgie stood without a word and headed towards the kitchen. Jon hadn't made up his mind about whether it would be better to follow her or give her space before she returned, carrying mismatched wine glasses and one of those bottles of chardonnay that are half the price for twice the volume of liquid. The amount of wine she poured could arguably be called "excessive," but Jon accepted with only the most token of protests.

  
"You believe me, then?" he asked.

  
"Unfortunately," Georgie replied. She gave him a shaky smile. "Be a bit easier if I didn't. Send you off to a mental hospital. Get my spare room back."

  
Her hand shook when she lifted the wine glass to her lips. Jon hesitated, swirling the wine in its glass before setting it down. "I can leave," he said.

  
Georgie looked at him, eyebrows raised. "No, I was just--why would you?"

  
"Because it's--it could be dangerous for me to be here. I shouldn't have come in the first place, and even if you discount all the--the-- _weird_ things, I _am_ under suspicion of murder."

  
Georgie took another healthy swallow of wine. "I--ok. Yes, you should have mentioned that. I should probably be angrier about that, to be honest, but--there's a lot of other things you mentioned that I'm more concerned about."

  
"And any of those things could be dangerous for you as well," Jon started, but Georgie shushed him with startling ferocity.

  
"They _are_ dangerous for _you!"_ she snapped. "What if whoever bludgeoned Leitner had come in half a minute sooner? What would they have done to _you?"_

  
"I...didn't think of that."

  
"Of course you didn't," Georgie muttered into her wine glass. "And today--God, I don't know what I thought had happened, but you goading a--a _wax monster_ into setting you on fire wasn't it. She could have killed you, Jon, and I--" She cut herself off, pressing a hand to her face.

  
"She wasn't going to kill me," Jon said quietly. "And I didn't goad her into anything. She would have done it anyway. She was an investment banker, after all."

  
Georgie huffed out a tiny laugh at that. "Okay." She sighed heavily, rubbing at a temple before meeting Jon's eyes again. "Are you really going after...what was his name again?"

  
"Michael Crew. And yes."

  
She drummed her nails against the glass rapidly. "I want to come with you."

  
_"What?"_ Jon jolted upright from where he'd been leaned against the arm of the couch. "No! Why would you even want to?"

  
"You have Melanie doing all sorts of things to help you--"

  
_"Melanie_ is just doing _research,_ I have no intention of--"  
"I want to help you, Jon! And didn't your wax monster woman tell you he was on your side, anyway?"

  
"There's not--I don't--it isn't that _simple."_ He floundered, then reached for his own glass and took a long pull from it. "You're not coming with me. It's--"

  
"If it's too dangerous for me, it's certainly too dangerous for _you."_

  
"What's that supposed to mean?"

  
Georgie snorted, then looked pointedly at Jon's bandaged arm. He grabbed at it defensively. "At least let me...drive the getaway car, or something. I can be backup if you don't want me to actually meet this guy."

  
Jon made a frustrated noise. "Look, I--I'm not eager to go chasing after him in this condition anyway. Give it a few days, maybe a week, and we'll...talk about it."

  
"If you're lying--"

  
"I'm not!"

  
Georgie pulled her knees up to her chin, hugging them with the arm not holding her wine glass. "I'm just scared for you," she said. Her voice was small. "I don't..." she trailed off with an embarrassed little laugh. "I don't want you to get...eaten by worms, or--or kidnapped by shadow people or whatever else."

  
"Well the worms didn't manage it last time," Jon said, trying to sound light. It didn't come particularly naturally. Georgie laughed anyway, but it was hollow and dull, and she scrubbed roughly at her eyes. Jon glanced away, uncomfortable with the idea that she might cry; he sipped at his wine until he felt her stretch out and stand.

  
"You should probably try to get some sleep," she said. She glanced towards the kitchen. "I...was going to do chores to calm down, but you keep cleaning the house."

  
"Sorry." Jon stood, drained the last of his wine, then offered her the glass. "Do you want to do dishes?" he suggested. She rolled her eyes but grinned at him, and it looked genuine enough to loosen the knot that had been growing in his stomach. "Thank you," he said. "For...everything. Letting me stay." He gestured vaguely with the wine glass. "Thanks."

  
Georgie hugged him.

  
He hadn't been expecting that, and went rigid against her, his arms hovering around her awkwardly before he wrapped his unbandaged arm around her shoulders. "You're going to be okay," she whispered fiercely. He wasn't sure if she was trying to convince him or herself, but the words sent a rush of warmth through him nonetheless.

  
Even if he didn't quite believe her.

***

The next morning, when Jon rolled over to get the sunlight out of his eyes, he landed on top of his ruined arm and immediately yelped and jolted upright, cradling it against his body while simultaneously trying not to touch it. Now that he was awake, his arm throbbed painfully in time with his heartbeat, feeling hot and tight beneath the layers of gauze.

  
The door burst open and Jon yelped again. "Jon?!"

  
Georgie was wild-eyed in the doorway, a knife from the kitchen clutched in one hand. She looked as if she hadn't slept. "It's just my arm!" Jon said, torn between pulling the sheets up over his chest and getting up to take the knife from her. "I rolled over onto it, that's all."

  
"Oh, good." Georgie lowered the knife. "I mean, not good, but, I thought...never mind." For a moment she stood in the door, toying with the knife and staring blankly in Jon's general direction. Then she seemed to come back to herself and snapped upright. "Oh! Sorry, I'll just--hah--uh. Yeah. Sorry." And she was gone, shutting the door firmly behind her.

  
By the time Jon had dressed and made it into the kitchen, Georgie had replaced the knife, set out a plate of toast, and had the first aid kit open on the table. "We should probably change the gauze and put on some more anti-bacterial stuff," she said without looking up. She was leaning on her elbows on the counter, her hands tight fists in her mass of curly hair.

  
Jon went over to her, hesitating uncertainly before deciding against placing a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right?"

  
"Yeah!" She made a truly valiant effort at sounding peppy, but when she looked up her eyes were bloodshot. She glanced away when Jon arched an eyebrow at her. "I...it's a lot, okay? But I'll be fine. Let me change your bandages."

  
The burns, if anything, looked worse having had time to...fester. Jon made a disgusted noise and retreated to the sink to wash away dead skin and dried blood and pus. "I've been thinking," Georgie said as Jon cursed under his breath at having split open a blister. "Perry kept saying you were...compelling her, or something, right?"

  
"Yes. I wasn't trying to," he added guiltily. "It's not like I was _trying_ to make her angry."

  
"No, you're just a natural," Georgie said cheerfully. Jon shot her a withering look over his shoulder. "But I was wondering if maybe you should...practice?"

  
"Practice?" Jon shut the water off and sat at the table, resting his arm on the towel Georgie had spread out on the table. "How exactly does one practice...psychically encouraging someone to tell a story?"

  
"Well you've apparently been doing it without knowing it," Georgie said, dabbing cream along the cracked skin of Jon's knuckles. "I thought maybe you could ask me some questions or something."

  
Jon stared at her. "You thought I could ask you some questions," he repeated flatly.

  
"Yeah."

  
"In order to force you to answer them. With my mind."

  
Georgie met his gaze. "Yeah. Oh, don't look at me like that, Jon, I trust you not to do anything w--" She cut herself off.

  
"Were you going to say _weird?"_

  
"I meant...creepy?" Jon arched an eyebrow. "Creepy in a mundane way! Invasive, I guess. Look, I just thought it would be worth trying, all right?"

  
"No, you're..." Jon rubbed at his eyes. "You're probably right." His arm ached. Georgie's fingers were nimble and cool against his skin, but every touch sent his nerves ablaze again, however gentle she tried to be.

  
"I am going to need more gauze," she said absently as she finished rewrapping Jon's arm. "Eat something so you can take a painkiller. You've been clenched up all morning."

***

Georgie seemed reluctant to let Jon out of her sight. She spent the morning doing her editing on the couch, the Admiral curled up by her head; when lunch rolled around she suggested they call for delivery, and they spent a pleasant ten minutes arguing about what kind of food to get. Afterwards, as Jon was putting away leftovers and Georgie fed the Admiral a few scraps of chicken, she said, in a voice that was too casual to be anything but hesitant, "So...did you want to try...?"

  
Jon paused, swinging the refrigerator door back and forth absently. "I, ah...if you're sure you're all right with it?"

  
"Sure!" Georgie scooped the Admiral up over her shoulder; the cat made a long-suffering noise but went placidly limp. "Like I said. I trust you."

  
"Right," Jon said, glancing away. "Well...let's get a move on, I guess."

  
It was awkward. They settled on opposite ends of the couch, facing each other, Georgie with the Admiral snoozing in her lap, Jon picking absently at a frayed edge of his bandages. On the coffee table beside them, the tape recorder clicked on.

  
They both jumped, turning to stare. "When did that get there? Did you put it there?" Georgie asked.

  
"I...no. It was in the guest room, I thought," Jon said slowly.

  
Georgie leaned over to flick it off, but almost immediately, it snapped back on. "...Okay. Well, off too a nicely spooky start, I suppose," she said. Her fingers curled a little more tightly in the Admiral's fur.

  
And suddenly Jon was overwhelmed by the desire not to do this. The thought of potentially turning the Eye's sights on Georgie made him want to throw up, or to go fleeing back to the Institute and beg Elias to leave her alone, to save her from whatever web Jon had found himself entangled in and let her go back to normalcy.

  
"Hey." Jon jerked, jolted out of his impending panic attack; Georgie was looking at him with sympathy. "Look, we don't have to do this. I just thought I could help."

  
Exhaling slowly, Jon nodded. Too late now. "All right. Let me just...think of something to ask you."

  
"Ooh, just as long as it isn't about which boys I like," Georgie said, grinning. "You made so much fun of the last one."

  
"You didn't _like_ that one, you used him for Hungarian food and mocked his syntax for a weekend," Jon protested.

  
"Whatever, dude."

  
There was a cozy silence, Georgie giggling at her own cleverness while Jon rolled his eyes in exaggerated fashion. The question arose unbidden in his mind, leeching some of the warmth of the moment, the smile flickering and fading from his face.

  
"Tell me about why you started your podcast," he said.

  
"Oh, uh. Really?" Georgie laughed, a little nervously. "It's...I mean, I don't think it's particularly exciting, really? To be honest, I don't even believe half the things I talk about on it, so..."

  
"Yes, well. That does leave the matter of the other half, doesn't it?"

  
"I...I guess it does." Georgie broke eye contact, the slightest of frown lines appearing between her eyebrows. She squeezed one of the Admiral's paws between her thumb and forefinger; Jon had never seen a cat quite so content to be manhandled, but the Admiral just kept purring.

  
"Statement of Georgie Barker, regarding...her belief in the supernatural," Jon found himself saying. "Recorded direct from subject, April 25th, 2017. Statement begins."

***

I must have been...16, 17 maybe? I was taking a summer photography class. Once a week they'd take us to some new place and turn us loose to take pictures. Honestly, it wasn't a very good class, I didn't learn much; got a few nice pictures, though. Nothing groundbreaking or masterful, but...nice. And it was a fun excuse to get out of the house for a while.

  
The week it happened, we were supposed to be taking pictures of...architecture, or maybe just "city life" or something. I can't remember. The point is, we got to wander around the city for a day. We were using those instant camera things, you know, that spit your photos out right after you take them. I don't know why, thinking back it seems like kind of a silly thing to use when you're going to be wandering around all day, but...well, if we hadn't been, it probably wouldn't have...happened, the way it did.

  
I forget when I noticed it. I wasn't very interested in architecture so most of the pictures I took weren't that great. I didn't even really know what was supposed to be interesting enough to take a picture of, so I was just...snapping away at whatever caught my eye. Then later I started sifting through a whole bunch of the photos I'd taken to see if there was anything worthwhile.

  
In one of the pictures I'd taken, of an alleyway, I saw there was a dark figure at the end of it. I didn't remember seeing anyone when I'd taken it, and I couldn't make out any features, just this...dark smudge. It was definitely... _person-shaped,_ but it was just...blank. Like negative space. A hole where a person-shaped thing might fit.

  
And it was in every picture I'd taken.

  
Usually just in the background, this conspicuous smudge of darkness that hadn't been there when I'd taken the picture. Even when there were other people around it, and I could make out their faces, it would be this empty smear, completely featureless. In one picture, it was standing halfway inside another man, clipping through him like badly rendered CGI. The man was frowning, wincing almost, and he looked...confused, like he didn't understand why...

  
I don't know, maybe that was just a coincidence. After all, nobody ever seemed to be looking at this weird, lanky, shadow thing. Nobody seemed to be aware of it at all.

  
I tried to tell myself it was just--I don't know, something wrong with the film maybe? Some kind of...double exposure or...I don't know.

  
But it was there, and now that I'd noticed it, I couldn't stop. I started searching for it through the viewfinder; I never saw it, but every time, it would show up in the photo, where it very clearly hadn't been moments before. And it...maybe it was just my imagination, but it seemed like it was getting...closer.

  
So...I turned the camera on myself. I'm...not sure what my thought process was, really, I just...surely I'd know, wouldn't I? If there were something right up next to me? So I snapped a picture, smiling like...like I was just some silly, carefree student, and not on the verge of screaming.

  
I've never felt so much anticipation as I did while I was waiting for that photo to develop. I was trying not to look like I was staring at it, but I just...stood there. Clutching at it. Willing it to come into focus faster. And when it did...

  
_A pause. The Archivist watches her, patient and rapt, and under his gaze she takes in a shuddering breath and continues._

  
It was...there. With me. Looking at the camera as if...as if we were old friends, taking a picture together. Like it would be smiling, if I could just make out its face. Its hand...

  
_She gestures; cradles her jawline delicately, as if she is tilting her face upwards, towards an unseen camera._

  
It was touching me, and I didn't even notice.

  
I didn't see it anymore after that. Not that day, or ever again. And I looked. Every picture I developed for the rest of that class, I was waiting to see it lurking there, but...it never was.

  
I burned those photos.

***

"Statement--statement ends." Jon felt very far away; his head was spinning, and he felt violently torn between asking follow-up questions and asking if Georgie was _okay._ She wasn't looking at him anymore; her face had gone a little grey; her hand had stilled on the Admiral's back.

  
Then she looked up and forced a smile. "Well, I guess it worked. I've...never told anyone that, before."

  
"You said you couldn't make out any features?" Jon asked. "Not even in that last photo?"

  
"No, nothing." She stared off into the distance as if trying to conjure up a memory. "It wasn't...it wasn't exactly a shadow, it just...didn't _have_ any features to make out. I'm sorry, I know that doesn't make sense."

  
"I've heard worse." Jon hesitated, drumming his fingers against his leg, then asked, "And...its hands...?"

  
Georgie shook her head, but without conviction. "I...I don't remember, Jon. It's been so long, and I haven't seen it in years, I..."

  
It was silent for a moment; the sun and faint birdsong filtered in from outside, but it did little to lift the mood.

  
"And you are all right?" Jon finally asked.

  
"Yeah. Like I said, I haven't seen it since, and it didn't hurt me or anything."

  
"I meant that I...asked you."

  
"Oh!" Georgie looked surprised. "Well. I told you it was okay. I'm...I'm a little surprised that it _worked,_ but...yeah. It's fine." She grinned. "Besides, I trust you to go digging around in my brain more than anyone else I know, anyway."

  
"I didn't go--wait, why?"

  
She shrugged, one-shouldered. "I knew you weren't going to ask anything embarrassing. You're too straight-laced for that."

  
"I still could ask you something embarrassing," Jon suggested. "Like...ah...well..."

  
"You can't even think of anything!" Georgie stretched out, nudging him with her foot. "No, go on, now I want to know what you come up with. Ask me something." She poked him again and Jon grabbed her ankle; she made a strange squeaking noise and tried to curl away from him.

  
He arched an eyebrow at her. "Here's one--are you _ticklish,_ Miss Barker?"

  
"Stop it--"

  
He wriggled his fingers; she shrieked; the Admiral made an annoyed cat noise and jumped off her lap, stalking away to find a bed that wasn't squirming. Georgie leapt across the couch at him, seizing his wrist and holding it out away from her, pressing down on him with her full body weight, careful to avoid his burned arm. "You're terrible," she said, eyes sparkling. "Just the worst."

  
"So I've been told." He smiled up at her, testing her grip on his wrist. "Do you plan on letting me up, or--"

  
From the hallway, there was the sound of something being pushed through the mail slot.

  
Georgie bolted up and dashed towards the door before Jon realized what was happening. "Georgie--wait!" He scrambled after her, but before he could stop her she had flung open the front door and burst out onto the street, looking around frantically in every direction.

  
There was nothing out of the ordinary, no suspicious hooded figure fleeing the scene, no Breekon and Hope van peeling around the corner. Georgie's hands were clenched into tight fists, and she cursed viciously under her breath. "What is it?" she asked. Her voice was taut and shaking. "What did we get _now?"_

  
Jon knelt down to examine the scrap of paper on the floor and felt his stomach churn violently. It wasn't like the other packages; there was no tape, no file, no statement waiting to be recorded. It was a photocopy of an old Polaroid. He picked it up with a trembling hand and handed it over to Georgie without a word, so she could see for herself--the very picture she had just told him about, of her own, younger, smiling face, cradled in the long, bony fingers of a featureless creature standing over her shoulder.

***

"You should go to sleep."

  
Georgie sat up straighter in her spot on the couch. "I'm not tired," she said, undercutting her point somewhat as she stifled a yawn. _"You_ should sleep. You're still hurt."

  
"Mmm, I'll just go sleep off my burns, yes."

  
They stared at each other. Jon quirked an eyebrow. "I don't want to sleep," Georgie finally said, begrudgingly. "I don't want to wake up to--to you...gone."

  
"I'm not going anywhere."

  
Georgie buried her face in her hands. "I don't believe you," she muttered. "Something could get in. Some...some door could open and if that _thing_ said just the right thing, you'd follow it. I'm not even worried about something _taking_ you, just that they'd promise you information and you'd go with them without a second thought."

  
Jon glanced away. As much as he wanted to dispute that, he wasn't sure he could with any degree of honesty. "I'm--I'm not completely stupid, you know," he settled on. "I don't _trust_ Michael." The look Georgie gave him made it perfectly clear she knew he was talking around the issue. "Look, I...I just want answers. Don't you want to know what's going on?"

  
"I want you to be _safe,"_ Georgie said. She stood, pressing the palms of her hands into her eyes. She started to say something else, cut herself off, and looked blearily towards the kitchen. "I'm going to...make tea, or something."

  
Jon remained where he was, staring at a point on the floor while the sounds of clinking glassware drifted in from the kitchen. The painkillers were starting to wear off and his arm ached in a distant, itchy kind of way. Soon it would grow to be an unbearable, pulsing heat; he closed his eyes.

  
_Safe._ The concept seemed...foreign, somehow. When was the last time he'd felt safe? Not since before Prentiss, at least. Maybe back before he'd discovered that first statement that wouldn't record onto his laptop. Before he'd ever felt the weight of the Beholding's gaze, watching his every move. But he'd known even then, hadn't he? He'd known since he was eight years old what was out there.

  
"Here."

  
Georgie had perched herself on the arm of the chair he was settled in and was thrusting a handful of pills at him. "It's been a couple hours," she said. There was a mug balanced on her knee and another on the coffee table in front of him. "I figured you could use some."

  
Jon picked the pills out of her palm one by one, taking a too-hot swallow of flowery tea to wash them down with. "Thank you."

  
He felt as if he should say something comforting, but nothing came to mind. Any reassurances would ring hollow; they would both know he was lying. It hardly seemed like offering to leave again would make her feel any better if it was his safety she was worried about. And he couldn't bring himself to lie and tell her he would stop. He doubted she would believe that, anyway.

  
"You should stay with me tonight." She didn't turn to look at him as she said it, instead sipping at her tea and gazing out the window on the far wall.

  
"Well, yeah, I wasn't planning on--" The weight of her words caught up with him abruptly. "Oh. _Oh._ I, uh..."

  
"I'd feel better," she continued, still not looking at him. "Not to be untoward, or anything, just..."

  
"No, I--I mean, I didn't think you--I was just--" He took a sip of tea to force himself to shut up. She was looking at him now, he could feel it, though he refused to meet her gaze, instead draining half his mug in spite of it still being just the wrong side of too hot. "Okay," he croaked, once he felt like he'd gotten a ghost of a grip.

  
Georgie smiled; he could see it out of the corner of his eye. "Okay," she said, and clinked their mugs together.

  
Jon thought of and discarded at least seven conversation starters while they finished their tea; the silence was companionable but heavy, and he couldn't quite bring himself to break it. He took the mugs to the sink while Georgie went around the house, turning off lights and locking doors and windows. He half expected her to come lead him by the hand to her bedside, but instead she just popped her head around a corner and asked, "Coming?" before disappearing into her room.

  
He'd been in her room before. It wasn't as if it was completely off limits. But it was something else to enter while all the lights were off save the soft glow of a bedside lamp. He hovered awkwardly in the doorway until Georgie arched an eyebrow at him; even then, he hesitated before crawling onto her bed, on top of the covers.

  
"Absolutely not," Georgie said, yanking them out from under him. She rolled over, flicked the lamp off, then tucked them both in, curling her arm around Jon's waist. "This all right?" she asked. It was a somewhat redundant question; she had already made herself quite comfortable, nestling her head in the crook of his neck, and her eyes had slipped closed. Jon was hardly going to tell her to move _now._

  
"Fine," he said in a whisper.

  
"Is that why you're stiff as a board?" Georgie asked in kind.

  
Her hand drifted up towards his face, the backs of her knuckles brushing along his jawline. He let her tilt his face towards hers; he wasn't exactly surprised, but he still inhaled sharply through his nose when she pressed their lips together. She was slow and languid, her fingers uncurling to cradle the curve of his skull, her lips parting in a gentle suggestion more than a demand. Still, he gave in as if she had demanded it, letting her press her tongue into his mouth, a tiny, breathless moan escaping him when she nibbled on his lower lip. His own hand splayed over her lower back, anchoring himself to her.

  
"Better?" she murmured against his mouth. Her eyes were still closed.

  
"That's...a word for it," he replied. He felt as if he were breathing very heavily. "Always room for improvement, though," he added.

  
Georgie laughed, low and a little throaty; she tangled their legs together and rolled her hips, lazy and unhurried and electric. "Well," she said, "let's see what we can do about that."

***

Georgie wasn't sure at first why she woke up with her heart in her throat. By all rights, she should be feeling warm and safe and contented; the sun was streaming cheerily through her window, and Jon was warm against her chest, the fingers of his good hand laced with hers. He looked younger when he slept; it was adorable. So the panic pulsing in her veins was completely illogical--until she heard the knock on the front door.

  
It must have been what had woken her up. Somehow it was clear, loud in spite of the distance and the closed bedroom door between her and it.

  
That fact that it hadn't woken Jon worried her. He didn't even stir when the knock came again, and the more she looked, the more she thought he looked less _asleep_ and more _unconscious,_ though she couldn't have articulated what the difference was if someone asked. So, swallowing her own apprehension, she slipped out of bed, dressed, and made her way to the front door, only stopping in the kitchen to grab a knife. She made a mental note to see if she could get her hands on a more reliable weapon. Something she could keep by the bed.

  
She opened the door without undoing the chain. "Hello?"

  
A well-dressed man stood on her doorstep, looking at her with such startling intensity that she almost slammed the door in his face. But the moment passed, and he suddenly seemed very mild and pleasant, a smile gracing his features. "Ah, Miss Barker. My name is Elias Bouchard. Would you mind if I came in for a moment?"

  
Before she realized what she was doing, Georgie had slid the chain from its place and opened the door, standing aside to let Elias in. He waltzed inside as if his host weren't holding a serrated kitchen knife and staring at him with a mixture of panic and fury.

  
In a daze, Georgie followed him into the kitchen, where he leaned against the counter, eyed her up and down, and said with a patronizing smile, "Put the knife down, Georgie."

  
She did. She didn't _want_ to, and her hand shook violently as she haltingly placed the knife on her kitchen table, but she did as she was told.

  
"Have a seat?"

  
She sat, her hands clenched into tight fists in her lap. She stared at the knife, trying to will herself to pick it back up.

  
"It was good of you to take Jon in." Georgie's eyes snapped up to Elias' face. If he noticed the shock and horror on her face, he didn't comment on it. His own expression remained as placid as ever. "We do miss him at the Institute, of course, but sometimes these things are...necessary."

  
"You framed him, didn't you?" Georgie breathed. "You killed that man, Leitner. You set Jon up."

  
For half a second, Elias seemed...taken aback. But the moment passed quickly. "Of course I did," he responded. "Does Jon know that, or did you put it together on your own?"

  
"He suspects. Why did--?"

  
Elias waved a dismissive hand, and Georgie fell silent. "That isn't what I came here to discuss. I need something from you, Miss Barker."

  
"What would that be?"

  
"Throw Jon out."

  
Georgie felt herself go cold; breathing was suddenly difficult, as if no matter how deeply she inhaled, there wasn't enough oxygen in the air. "Wh-what?"

  
Elias looked at her with an infuriating faux pity in his eyes. "It would be better for both of you, you realize. It simply isn't safe for you, having him around." He leaned in over the table, pitching his voice lower as if telling her a secret. "Whatever he's told you, the truth is worse. He'll realize that soon enough, and you--well, simply put, you don't need to know. So, you're going to throw him out. You will not tell him I was here. And you will return to your normal life, unburdened by whatever horror stories he's been telling you. Do we have a deal?"

  
The chair Georgie was sitting on toppled over from how fast she stood up, slamming her hands on the table and shoving herself into Elias' personal space. He actually leaned away from her, just an inch, but enough that she felt a thrill of pride. _"No,"_ she hissed.

  
The surprise on his face was more noticeable this time. "What?"

  
"No, I'm not throwing him out, and no, I'm not keeping this from him," she snapped. "You can get out of my kitchen now."

  
A slow smile crept back onto Elias' features and he raised his hands placatingly. "Of course," he said, "it is your own decision to make, after all. Although, if you're sure you don't want to take my up on my offer, then perhaps you should think of investing in an axe. You may find you need it."

  
Georgie stood stock still until she heard the front door close behind him, then sank, shaking, to the kitchen floor, next to the chair she had knocked over. She took slow, calming breaths, until she felt her pulse come back under control, then got to her feet, setting the chair back upright.

  
"You did _very_ well."

  
Georgie shrieked, spinning around and knocking the chair over again as she did so. There was a man leaning against a wall across from her, smiling as if he were remembering a particularly funny inside joke. He was tall, and blond, and looking at him made Georgie's teeth itch.

  
"Who--who are you?" she stammered, groping blindly for the knife. She had a feeling it wouldn't help, but somehow it made her feel better. Like she was at least making an active effort at survival.

  
"Oh, come now, we've _met,"_ said the man. He reached out and somehow, though he should have been too far away to do so, cradled Georgie's chin in his long fingers, tilting her head slightly upwards. His skin did not feel like skin. It felt like nothing Georgie could name.

  
But the gesture was enough.

  
"Oh," Georgie said, weakly. "Oh, God."

  
"Don't worry," said the thing that was not a man. "I'm only here to...thank you. For keeping an eye on the Archivist for me." It laughed at that and Georgie's head throbbed in pain. "And...I thought you might like this back."

  
It pressed a Polaroid into her palm. She didn't look at it. She didn't have to.

  
"You're going to want to check in on him," said the thing. From the bedroom, there was a low, pained groan. "And do tell him hello from me, won't you? And that I'll make sure to stop by, later..."

  
Georgie blinked and it was gone. Her head was still pounding, and there was still a Polaroid cradled in her hands, and the clock on the wall said she had been standing there for five minutes longer than she'd thought, but there was no sign of it. She heard something that might have been her name from the bedroom; it was hard to tell, between the buzzing in her ears and the way Jon sounded slurred, almost concussed.

  
She turned and headed towards the bedroom, clutching the photo to her chest, and resolved to go out and buy an axe the second she felt comfortable leaving Jon alone.


End file.
